


Shiver

by feverbeats



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-21
Updated: 2010-09-21
Packaged: 2017-10-12 01:57:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/119530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feverbeats/pseuds/feverbeats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's early October, already cold out, when Ginny Wealsey talks to Draco for the first time that year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shiver

**Author's Note:**

> Written for rubber_glue for help_pakistan.

i.

When Draco is seventeen, his life is the worst it's ever been. Last year, he wouldn't have said it was possible for his life to get any more complicated and horrible, but that was before he got a glimpse of the face of the war. It turns out war is less about people shouting spells at one another and more about the awful politics behind the shouting. His parents, he thinks, must not be as good at manipulating the flow of the politics as Draco originally supposed.

He suggests this to Blaise, and Blaise just laughs and says, "If that were true, darling, they'd be _dead_."

Draco stops talking to Blaise.

He stops talking to everyone, really. Seventh years goes by in a haze of low-grade panic and whispers in the walls about what's coming. He goes to class, not really planning on passing anything, because it doesn't matter anymore. Defence Against the Dark Arts with Carrow is a joke, so easy he gets Outstandings on everything with minimal effort. Of course, it's not really _Defence_ anymore.

Draco finds himself immensely bored by the Dark Arts. He's probably supposed to be good at them, but he thinks maybe he's not good at much of anything, actually, except getting his family into colossal trouble. His life feels like being in a locked room with no back exit. Gryffindors always have a back exit.

Oh, yes, the Gryffindors. They come to Potions, cheeks hollow and eyes smudged dark from lack of sleep. They're all miserable, if they show up at all. They fail classes and glare at the teachers resentfully and _Draco can't stop watching them_. It's not like it's a new obsession, exactly, but now Potter isn't here getting everything Draco should have and being his excuse for staring.

It's early October, already cold out, when Ginny Wealsey talks to Draco for the first time that year.

Potions is just letting out, the students trooping dejectedly from the room. Even the Slytherins are subdued now, many of their families no longer owling because they're too busy running back and forth for the Dark Lord. Draco's parents don't owl for other reasons.

Ginny, dressed in jeans and a red jumper with a _G_ on it instead of her robes, accidentally brushes against his arm as they're leaving, and she turns to actually focus on him. She's been pretending he's invisible till now. He should probably feel grateful that he's so worthless he's beneath everyone's notice, but he doesn't.

"Hey," she says roughly. "You look like shit."

He doesn't think he's ever heard her swear before. He feels a flash of hot anger in his gut. Why does Potter get absolutely everything in the world?

"Brilliant observation, Weasley," he sneers. It's weak, and they both know it.

Ginny sighs. "Merlin's sake, Malfoy, you're such a—Listen, do you want to come somewhere tonight?"

He thinks for one insane moment that she's asking him on a date. "No?" he says, completely thrown. "What?"

She shifts her books in her arms and rubs the side of her nose, smearing careless ink there. "You must have heard what's going on."

Oh, that. Of course Draco's heard of that. The little acts of resistance going on around the school, a pathetic attempt to buck the Death Eaters' authority. _At least they're trying_ , his mind tells his treacherously. "Of course I don't want to help with your little revolution," he snaps, his voice shakier than he meant it to be. "What the hell's wrong with you?"

Her eyes flash, and he feels, for a second, a little bit alive. "Fuck off, Malfoy." She turns to go, her hair a blazing arc in the air for a second as his eyes blur with exhaustion and—

"Wait," he says.

She doesn't turn, but the set of her shoulders changes.

"You're going to get hurt," he tells her. His fingers feel numb around the edge of his Potions book. "You and Longbottom and your little gang. Everyone practically knows it's you. They don't even need proof, these days."

Now she does turn, just in time to burn through him with her glare. "Don't mess with me, Malfoy," she says hotly. "You won't win."

 _But we're winning the war_ , he thinks. Whatever "we" means. "Okay," he says.

She looks at him for as second as if she doesn't know what to do with him. Then she says, "Okay" and turns on her heel to head off down the corridor.

Draco goes back to the Slytherin Common Room and spreads his things about over as much space as possible, feeling ill about even such a tiny rebellion as that. The fire is blazing high and no one else is around, thank Merlin. He doesn't want to talk to Pansy again. She keeps wanting to kiss him and all he wants to do is be left alone. It's nothing personal, at least not really. It never has been, with her, but that's all right. Draco has never been allowed personal things, especially since the war started growing.

He does all of his homework for once, essay for Potions and practice for Charms and research for Herbology, which he's rotten at. He's glad he stopped taking Divination. It used to give him panic attacks when he was thirteen, although no one but Vincent and Gregory know that.

He wonders if Ginny Weasley ever gets panic attacks. The idea is a little ridiculous. Perfect Potter's perfect girlfriend. He thinks about hitting her next time he sees her, but that doesn't sit right at all (his mother taught him one or two things about real manners, in between teaching him to bend at the knees for authority), and he turns back to the remainder of his work. Maybe he can at least take pride in doing a good job at his schoolwork for once, now that people aren't just handing him good marks. Being out of favor with the Dark Lord manifests itself in small, petty ways.

Draco falls asleep in front of the fire, and when he wakes up, it's the middle of the night and the fire has gone out. He's freezing.

ii.

The stone wall of the Room of Requirement is cold against Ginny's back where she's leaning on it. Some days there are tapestries, but not today. Maybe today the room thinks they don't need them.

Neville comes and leans against the wall next to her. She doesn't tell him so, but he looks like shit, too. There are dark circles under his eyes to match Malfoy's and his hair's a mess. The others are still training, or some of them have gone to bed.

"You should sleep," Ginny says.

Neville shakes his head. "I'm going to wait till everyone else goes to bed. I might just stay in the night in here."

She's only going to tell him once, and if he doesn't listen, that's his problem. She's not anyone's mum. "Fine," she says.

They watch the arcs of light that shoot from the wands of their little army. Blue sparks burst in the air and leave trails when Ginny shuts her eyes.

"I wonder where he is," Neville says.

"Who?"

He gives her a weird look. "Harry, of course."

Harry. Yeah, like Ginny's whole world resolves around Harry. Harry, who she almost dated. "Probably being a hero," she says idly. She has faith in him, of course. He's always had far more luck that was good for him, and she knows he can win this war, although probably not singlehanded. That doesn't mean she thinks about him as much as Neville does, and it certainly doesn't mean she's going to sit around pining for him.

Neville has lapsed into silence again, the nearly-worn-through elbows of his jumper pressed against the wall.

"I asked Malfoy if he wanted to come," Ginny announces into the silence.

Neville turns, frowning. "What? To come here? _Malfoy?_ "

She sometimes forgets how much Neville hates Malfoy. "Sorry," she says, feeling a little guilty. "It's just, you said we needed all the help me could get, and we haven't managed to recruit _any_ Slytherins yet. And he just looked so _miserable_ in Potions today."

Neville's mouth twists a little in what is almost a sneer. Because he's Neville, though, the expression stops halfway. "I can't believe you actually feel bad for him. He's awful. He's always been awful, and he's not about to change now. His family's done so many horrible things, and _especially_ to you lot."

Ginny supposes she's meant to blame Draco for his father giving her the diary when she was eleven. She can't quite summon up anything like hate for him, though, because he's just pathetic, especially lately. She almost wishes he'd stop going around looking so dreadful, because everything would be easier if she could let herself hate him. Everything it out of sync lately, so maybe she can afford a little compassion, if that's what this is.

"Sorry, I guess," she says. "I just don't know how to act around him now. He's not his dad, you know."

"Pretty much, though," Neville says darkly. The light from the of the few remaining students' spells paints his face red and gold.

"Okay," Ginny says. She's gotten good lately at keeping her mouth shut when she disagrees, because everyone's too tired for another argument, and they've got to keep their side together if they want to do anything right. She thinks about what the Sorting Hat said a few years ago about how the Houses have got to work together if any of them ever want to survive. She doesn't understand how that fits with keeping Draco Malfoy out in the cold.

After another twenty minutes, the last of the students have filed out, waving goodnight to Neville and Ginny. Neville slumps back against the wall, finally looking grey and drained. "Merlin, it's been a long night," he says.

 _It's going to be a long year_ , Ginny doesn't say.

"Well," Neville says, shoving his hands in his pockets, "Night. I'm off to bed."

"I'll walk with you." Ginny stands, stiff from sitting for so long. Her legs don't feel like her own for a moment, but she's used to that feeling lately. She seems displaced, disassociated. It's something like the way she felt first year when she was going possessed, and that thought is so sudden and strikingly horrible that she stumbles involuntarily as they step into the corridor.

"Hey, easy," Neville says, grabbing her arm. "You okay?"

"Just tired," she bites off, pulling away. It's easier not to get into it, because if she does, then she'll be stuck with the memories rattling around in her head for weeks. None of them can afford that right now. There are people who need her.

Neville nods, apparently satisfied. "It'll be all right, Gin. We can sleep when this is over."

She wonders if any of them know how long that's likely to be. The trouble is, unless they defeat Voldemort, it's just going to get worse and worse and never really _end_. They'll just keep on fighting until none of them are left.

When she parts ways with Neville at the bottom of the staircase and climbs into bed, Ginny can't make herself relax enough for sleep, tired as she is. She keeps thinking about the circles under Neville's eyes, and he's her _friend_ , he shouldn't have to feel that way. What really bothers her, though, is that she' more worried about the circles under Malfoy's eyes.

The best thing she can do, she decides, is get some sleep so at least she is taken care of.

It takes her a long time, though. She tips on the edge of sleep, half dreaming, thinking about what it means to be so important to the war and so completely out of control of your own destiny. She doesn't know how they're meant to know what they're doing. She thinks about Malfoy's grey, cold eyes and how afraid he looks. When she sleeps, she dreams about people who are always too young, always left behind, always forgotten and second best, not even second best, the leftovers of the war.

iii.

Every day for a week, Draco goes back to the Room of Requirement, where he spent so many hours last year. It doesn't open even once, not so much as a bloody crack in the wall, and he isn't shocked at all. Hogwarts has shut itself to him utterly, months too late. If this place really cared about Dumbledore, it wouldn't have let Draco in again and again, giving him everything he needed to destroy himself.

He traces the outline of the doorway on the wall, but the stone practically burns with cold. He's been caught out of bed and staring at walls a few too many times this year already, so he should really go. They've only made exceptions for him before because he's generally considered not worth the fuss. Privately, he agrees.

"Hey."

He turns, startled. It's Ginny.

"What are you doing here?" he asks stupidly.

Her hair, tugged into a ponytail, bounces when she shakes her head. "None of your business. What are _you_ doing here?"

 _Trying to get into a room that isn't there_ , Draco thinks. "Sleepwalking," he says.

She takes a step closer, frowning more deeply. "You look like it. Well, sleepwalk somewhere else next time, would you?"

"Last time I checked, you didn't own this castle," Draco snaps. This feels good. It reminds him of the stupid fights he used to have with Potter.

Everything always comes back to Potter. But it doesn't have to.

Standing here in front of Potter's girlfriend who's staring at him and _sneering_ at him and not even dignifying him with banter just feels hollow and awful. _I'm freezing to death_ , Draco wants to say, _Fucking help me_. The idea that she'd ever help him is hilarious, so he laughs.

Ginny blinks. "You're bloody mad, Malfoy. D'you know that?"

He does. He'd noticed. He's felt horribly disconnected lately, at a loss with what to do with his hands , even when he's meant to be doing spellwork. And now, because he's bloody mad and because he's sick and tired of feeling disconnected, he reaches out to make contact.

He means to hit her. He truly does.

Instead, his hands tangle in her jumper and he pulls her close, feeling her body heat under his hands and then under his mouth. She tastes like nothing. It's gorgeous.

She doesn't shove him off immediately, which is a shock. She does respond violently almost immediately, though, kissing him back so hard their teeth click together. Her hands come up to tug at his hair after a second, and the rasp of her short nails on his scalp is better than anything he's felt or thought about in months.

Ginny makes a noise, surprised and a little annoyed, before kissing him harder. Her mouth is hot on his, quick and messy and alive.

When she finally does push him off, they're both breathing hard.

"I hate you," Ginny says after a second.

Draco inclines his head. "Well, yeah. I hate you, too."

Ginny nods. "Just so we're clear."

iv.

"Fuck," Malfoy says, like he's trying it on for size.

Ginny laughs, feeling oddly giddy. "You sound like a prat when you swear. Don't." Her pulse is racing, half anger and half excitement.

He stiffens. "You don't know the first thing about me."

She probably doesn't. She's never needed to. All she knows is that right here, right now, this feels good. It might not feel right, exactly, and she still wants to hit him, but she also feels more grounded in her own body than she's felt in years. If that means kissing Malfoy again, she's game. "I don't want to know you," she says. She doesn't realize until she says it that it's not true, and that it hasn't been true for months now. She wonders how you can hate someone and want to crawl inside his skin at the same time.

He goes even paler, if that's possible, and tries on a very half-hearted sneer. "Well, believe me, Weasley, I don't want to know you, either. I know all the salient facts. You're poor. You're a blood traitor. Your first name's Ginny."

For some reason, the last item on the list irks her the most. "Ginevra," she says. "My full name's Genevra, _actually_. So maybe you don't know all the _salient facts_." She crosses her arms over her chest.

"Ginevra?" he repeats, frowning. "Well, why don't you just go by that? It's not half as _déclassé_ as Ginny."

Her hands curl into fists without her permission. "Keep it up and I'm going to hit you, not kiss you."

He makes a little self-deprecating motion with his head. "I'm surprised you didn't do that the first time."

She considers, for one wild second, telling him what it felt like to suddenly be _there_ and nowhere else, the war receding around her like dust, Harry forgotten on his epic and ultimately lonely quest, and Tom Riddle finally wiped out of his ghostly existence in her head. A kiss shouldn't have been able to accomplish all that. She wants to see if it'll happen again.

Instead of waiting for Malfoy to stop looking terrified and kiss her, she takes a step forward and kisses him again, biting down lightly on his lower lip. When he makes a sound, she bites down a little less lightly, nails digging into his arms through his robes.

His hands come up to bracket her hips, practically hovering over her jeans like he's afraid to touch her. Maybe he doesn't want Muggle clothing to touch his precious hands. She angles her hips against him a little and his hands are suddenly right against her hips, gripping them tightly. His fingers skate over the skin between his jeans and her jumper, shockingly cold. She wonders idly how long he's been out here in the corridor touching walls that won't open for him but have been sheltering her for months.

With that thought, she breaks the kiss. "Hey, hang on. I don't want to get caught, all right? Room of Requirement?"

Malfoy opens his mouth and shuts it. "Okay," he says.

v.

Draco wonders if Ginny would have laughed at him if he'd told her he was afraid the room wouldn't open for them with him here. He worries that Hogwarts hates him so much that it will go to any lengths to stop him getting what he wants.

The wall practically melts under Ginny's hand, though, becoming a door with so little effort that a spike of jealousy shoots through Draco. Good. Jealousy is better than feeling numb.

Ginny yanks him out of his thoughts and through the door with a rough tug at his sleeve. He follows her though the door and into what is now just a small room with a thick carpet and a couch.

"Homey," Ginny says, sounding a little surprised.

It's never looked like this for Draco. Then again, he's here, too, so maybe this is partially for him. He glances at the wall. There's a tapestry with a huge raven on it. He almost expected a snake, but he's almost painfully relieved not to find one. He's always hated snakes.

Ginny interrupts his thoughts about, tugging him close to her roughly. "Hey. Try to be here."

Draco grabs her hips again, digging his thumbs in hard enough to bruise. "How's this?" He's never felt like this with Pansy or anyone else. This is new and brilliant, sending a jolt of heat through him.

Ginny kisses him again, sliding her tongue into his mouth before he expects it. He moans softly and she laughs against his mouth.

"You're kind of easy, Malfoy," she says.

The heat of his anger is almost better than the kissing. He steps closer, crowding her back until the backs of her legs hit the couch. "I told you," he murmurs into her mouth, "You don't know me."

She tugs him back with her, collapsing on the couch with him awkwardly half on top of her. "Yeah?" She ducks her head to kiss his neck. "Is Draco short for something, too?"

He laughs, a genuine laugh. He can't remember the last time that happened. "No. But I'll bet you didn't know that my middle name was Regulus."

She bites down on his collarbone, probably hard enough to leave marks. "Mm. No, actually."

In what he considers to be the bravest thing he's ever done, he slides one hand under her jumper, over the warm skin of her stomach. She actually gasps.

"This okay?" he asks, feeling stupid for saying anything, especially that.

"I had the Dark Lord in my _head_ ," she whispers, her voice almost a hiss, and he jerks away, frightened. He's terribly good at being frightened.

"Easy," she says, refocusing on him. "I just mean you're not about to scare me that easily. Touch me." Her cheeks go a little pink.

Draco nods and touches her again, sliding his hand up to cup the curve of her breast. He's never heard anyone but a Death Eater say _the Dark Lord_ , but Ginny isn't a regular girl. He should have worked that out a while back.

vi.

"Take your clothes off," Ginny says. She feels giddy, but in control of the feeling, which makes no more sense than anything that's happened tonight. She doesn't know when she decided to escalate this thing, but the words come out of her mouth and she doesn't regret them. She wants to feel properly awake and alive in her whole body, and shockingly, she finds herself actually wanting Malfoy.

Malfoy blinks at her. "Okay." He undoes his robes and strips the rest of the way, glancing at her like she's about to take it back, ending up in only his boxers. She kind of expected them to have little silver snakes on them, but they're plain black. There are bruises already darkening on the pale skin of his collarbone where she bit him, and it's shockingly hot.

She stops staring long enough to shed most of her own clothes, and she's surprised when he looks away until she's done. It's an illogical reaction, but more than that, it's one she never expected from him.

"I'm naked enough that you can look now," she says. It's odd, taking this so slowly when she needs it so much, and when slowing down should make her realize what a stupid idea it is.

He flushes and frowns. "All right."

When he reaches out to her, she sees the mark on his arm for the first time. The black ink stands out startlingly dark against his skin, the curves of the snake seeming to shimmer slightly.

"Oh," she says. Her voice sounds hollow.

"You knew I . . ." And his sounds worried.

She nods. "Yeah. It's just weird, seeing it." She thinks about all the things the Death Eaters have done to people she loves and how Malfoy hasn't done any of them. She grabs his wrist had and pulls him close, thinking about the bruises she's going to leave, not quite because she's angry.

He fits his body against hers on the couch, skinny hips sharp through his boxers. "Are we, uh, actually . . ."

She laughs. "You'll probably have a panic attack if we try." Who knows, she might, too.

He goes slightly paler again, but he just nods.

Instead of saying anything else, Ginny shifts so she's straddling him, legs around his waist. She rocks gently, feeling the heat of his body under her.

"Oh, _fuck_ ," he grits out, grabbing her hips hard and grinding her body against his. This time the word sounds genuine.

She gasps and ducks her head to hide the sound, nipping at his neck again. She sucks hard on his skin, leaving more purpling marks as he jerks his hips against her. She can feel him hard under her.

Then his hands leave their death-grip on her hips and he slides one hand between their bodies, pushing it against the front of her underwear. She rocks into his touch, sucking his neck harder to avoid crying out.

He throws his head back, panting, and she licks a line up heat up his exposed throat. All of her nerves feel raw and sharp, and every push of his hand against her makes it worse.

She reaches a hand down to wrap it around him through his boxers and he moans, a broken, open, unsafe sound. Then he jerks forward into her hand, shuddering.

Her hips stutter hard against him and her vision goes golden at the edges as she comes, easy and unexpected.

"Oh, Merlin," Malfoy gasps. "Hey, I'm sorry, I . . ." He blushes. "I mean, that wasn't exactly . . . I'm sorry."

Ginny slides off his lap, feeling suddenly self-conscious. "No, erm, it's all right. So've I, that is."

Malfoy blushes. "Oh. Right. Good."

Ginny takes pity on him. "That was nice," she says. "I didn't hate it." When he continues to look miserable, she adds, "I mean, I . . . I don't hate you."

vii.

Draco's never felt so absurdly relived not to be hated. "Brilliant," he says, feeling like an idiot. Then, just in case it wasn't clear, "I don't hate you, either." He touches her shoulder experimentally.

She nods comfortably. "We're all right, then. Are you coming to our next meeting, then?"

Draco doesn't know. Fooling around with an enemy in a rush in the middle of the night isn't going to change the fact that he's cold with fear every second of his life, and it isn't going to change the fact that he has his family to think about. But he feels like, at least, he could maybe be friends with Ginny. That's a slightly horrifying thought, and he decides he'll stick to kissing her. "Maybe," he says.

She nods, as though that's about what she expected. "Okay. Well, see you there if you do. It'll be here, tomorrow night. If you're not with us, you won't get in, so don't think about telling anyone else."

"Who would I tell?" he asks honestly.

"Fair point." She grabs her jumper from the rug. "I think the castle wanted us to mess around. It's promoting inter-House cooperation."

Draco thinks this theory is more sinister than anything else, but he doesn't want to share his paranoia about the castle with Ginny until he knows her a little better. He doesn't even know her middle name.

They get dressed in only slightly awkward silence. Then Ginny turns to Draco and says, "Well, thanks for that. I'll be seeing you soon. Try to get some sleep, okay? You really do look awful."

He smiles, feeling for the first time in weeks like he's not made of ice. "I know. You, too. Bye, Ginevra."

She shoots him a glare, but her mouth turns up the corner before she goes.


End file.
